


One Last Time

by Hanari502



Category: Homestuck, Intermission - Fandom
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canonical Character Death, Closure, Other, Post-Canon, Post-Sburb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-06-09 11:16:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6903619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hanari502/pseuds/Hanari502
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was a stinging sort of irony in the fact that it was a blade that did him in</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Last Time

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally going to be a 1000 word oneshot that someone commissioned me to do on tumblr, but it quickly got out of hand as I was already planning on writing something like this anyway.
> 
> I hope this story gives the entire Intermisson fandom the closure and happy ending we needed.

He never expected to feel the cold grip of death so quickly.

Considering how many times he avoided it, Slick never expected to feel it at all. He had always been under the impression that there was a reason why he survived all his battles. Somebody somewhere wanted him alive at all costs, and god be damned if he wasn’t grateful for the son of a bitch that did. Of course, that was before he actually died.

He always knew he would go down fighting somehow. Whether it was by the hands of Lord English or some drunk guy on 24th street with good aim, he knew that he’d leave the world with a weapon in his hand and a penchant for vengeance. He definitely had a weapon in his hand at the time, and vengeance nearly enacted. If it wasn’t for that damn kid and his high holy vorpal sword slicing his head off he would have been just great. And to make it even worse, the glowy asshole he’d been fighting lit off like a timebomb only seconds after and he had to watch his own body get blown to smithereens. Y’know, because of the whole ‘The mind is alive even after the head gets cut off’ thing. He chalked it up to the advanced cybernetics that he was able to watch his own end. He supposed there was a sort of solace in the fact that the billiard eyed bastard went down with him, but the fact that he wasn’t the one to deal the final blow made the victory bitter.

His world was white now, his body back to normal. His limbs were all accounted for, completely lacking any robotics he would have had if he was still alive. Anger pooled in him as he glared off into the bright, blank landscape before him. Was this a dream bubble? Was he even allowed those? Hell if he knew. Whatever it was, it made him furious. He was _so close_ dammit. He was so close to revenge he could taste it in the back of his throat. He needed closure. He needed blood. He needed more than just a quick goodbye to the world and a hello to limbo.

He raged, his screams a mix of agony and fury. How _dare_ they take away his victory. Those snot nosed brats in their fancy pajamas and powers. It was his battle to fight and they pushed their noses in and opposed him when it was none of their goddamn business. Strings of curses littered the air as he fell to his knees. He didn’t have any of his weapons on him here. No knives, no swords, no guns no glory. If he could just break something, stab something, maybe he’d feel a little bit better. If there was something to resist him, even a little. Someone to give him a satisfying fight, maybe his rage would subside. Even here at the end of his story he would throw a tantrum if it meant he would be given just _one more shot_.

Even in death, Spades Slick would fight.

 **“You’re a very difficult man to get ahold of, Mister Slick.”** came a voice from behind him once he settled down. The complete lack of emotion in it sent a chill down Slick’s spine. It had to be sooner rather than later.

“Bite me.” He stood up and fixed his jacket. There was no point trying to look good in the face of death. Everybody ended up here someday. He’d probably seen it all anyway. Still, it didn’t hurt to be presentable. He ran a city once.

He turned to glare at Death in all his glory. His eyes momentarily became lost in the void of his robe, it’s hue a black so dark it seemed to erase all light around it, before settling on the stark white bones of his face. It seemed so out of place, hovering in the middle of such darkness. It took him a second to register the scythe in his hands.

 **“I suppose you are wondering why you’re here.”** His eyes held nothing in them and were as dark and absorbing as his cloak.

Slick scoffed at him. “I’m here ‘cause I’m dead, fuckwit.”

 **“Language.”** Death scolded him. **“I meant, here specifically.”**

“As in limbo?” Slick asked, inspecting his cufflinks. He was mildly surprised he still had them. “Yeah, it’s ‘cause my moral alignment’s fucked every which way. I killed an asshole while bein’ an asshole.”

Death regarded him with unmoving eyes. **“Actually, your alignment is Neutral Evil. There’s not much arguing it.”**

Slick snarled at him. “Get to th’ point.”

 **“The point is that you are here because you have to be judged before you can die.”** Death told him, his scythe glinting as he stepped forward. Slick could see his reflection in the blade. **“Of course, you have the option to avoid your judgement in place of a game.”**

“I hate games.” Slick narrowed his eyes at him. “Why th’ fuck would I play a game with death if I’m already dead?”

Death smiled. Slick felt somehow that it was an empty action. **“Would you like a cup of tea, Mister Slick?”**

That did it.

“No I don’t want a goddamned cup a fuckin’ tea!” He snapped, stepping forward with every intent to fight. “What I want is ta get back out there an’ find Lord English and shank ‘im till his smug green pool balled fuckin’ face is drippin’ with his own blood!”

Death stood fast. **“Really now.”**

It was the lack of reaction that made Slick’s blood boil. “D’you have any idea what I went through? ‘Course you do, you’re _Death_. You’ve got ev’ryone’s number. I was a king. I was a god in that city goddammit. I had money, dames, infamy, power. I had ev’rythin’ I coulda wanted except the one thing I deserved.”

Death would have raised an eyebrow if he had any. **“And what, exactly, do you think you deserved?”**

“Revenge.” Slick paced around him, arms moving with his words. “Revenge on that skeleton lookin' bastard an’ all his time-fuckin’ leprechaun shithead underlings.”

 **“You successfully murdered all of those underlings once. Including Sn0wman.”** Death reminded him coolly. **“Isn’t that enough?”**

Slick clenched his fist, voice dropping in his somewhat contained wrath. “It’s not enough if I didn’t kill the one that mattered.”

 **“I suppose, in the eyes of a king, only the death of another king would count as a victory.”** Death recited.

“He ain’t no king.” Slick growled. “He’s a lyin, cheatin, suspender wearin’ bastard who hides b’hind time loopholes and fucks with my casinos.” He said, looking up at death as what he hoped was surprise formed on his face. “Yeah, that’s still a thing I’m pissed about.”

 **“Your ability to hold a grudge to the end of the earth is applaudable.”** Death told him. **“Applaudable but futile, in the end.”**

“Fuck you.” Slick wished he had a knife to threaten him with. “You ain’t gonna keep me here. I’m Spades Slick. The king a’ Midnight City. I can’t afford t’ die.”

 **“And yet here you are.”** Death blinked at him

Slick’s shoulders stiffened. “I’ll fight you. I’ll kick yer ass with my bare hands if it means I get ta go back out there an’ give that green asshole what for.”

Death smirked at him and he wanted to punch his stupid pale face. **“Are you sure you wouldn’t like a cup of tea.”**

Slick fumed “You can take yer tea an’ shove it up yer ass.”

 **“Pity.”** Death said, turning away from him. **“Your comrades rather like my tea. I would think that even with no place to go you would care for some, but if you’re so certain…”**

Slick paused. “What.”

 **“Oh yes, they were very adamant about postponing their judgements until you arrived.”** Death said. Slick could hear the smug attitude in his voice. **“But if you don’t want to I suppose I’ll have to tell them you were whisked off to your-”**

Before Death could finish his sentence he was spun around, pulled down by Slick’s fierce grip as he was forced to meet him at eye level.

“Where’s. My. Crew.” It was a demand, not a question. The mob boss’s voice was deep and even when he spoke, but held as much malice in it as any threat he could have conjured.

Death was unfazed. **“Jumping to the root of things, as usual.”**

Slick watched Death’s eyelids droop, unamused, as he nodded at something behind him.

It took Slick all of a fraction of a second to release him when his eyes hit the black door. Death chuckled at his shock.

 **“You’ve kept me a very busy man you know.”** He straightened himself out with his free hand as Slick cautiously approached the door. **“And while I always appreciate the work, there’s something to be said when your strongest business relationship is with Death himself.”**

“Are they…” Slick trailed off before straightening up. “Is my crew behind this door?”

Death smiled. He couldn’t see it. **“Why don’t you see for yourself.”**

If his crew was behind the door, if they stayed behind for him, he just might be okay with this whole ordeal.

He didn’t hesitate, grabbing the door and opening it. He shielded his eyes as a burst of bright light hit him in the face. When it faded and he regained his sight, his jaw dropped at the scene before him.

“Oh you gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me.”

His crew was absolutely behind the door, though not in the way he was expecting. They were all sitting at a square table, cards in hand as they seemed to be engrossed fairly seriously in a game of Poker. Deuce was the first to notice him, his chair being the one most facing the door

“Hi Boss!!!” He waved from his spot atop several large phone books and one dictionary.

His comment made both Droog and Boxcars lift their heads to face him.

“Ah, Slick. So kind of you to join us.” Droog said, taking a drag from the cigarette between his teeth. He was already dead. Death could spare him a stick. “I was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to end up here after all.”

“‘Bout time.” Boxcars said, discarding two cards and pulling new ones from the deck. He clicked his tongue at what must have been a bad hand. He never was good at poker.

It took Slick aback, how normal the scene before him seemed. “What th’ flyin’ fuck’re you morons doing?!”

“Winning.” Droog rolled off his tongue as he flashed his hand. Royal Flush. The other two groaned in defeat.

Deuce threw his cards down on the table. “That’s not fair! That’s four rounds in a row!”

“Yeah, I’m gonna have t’call bullshit too.” Boxcars said, lowering his own cards. “There’s no way yer not stackin’ the deck.”

Droog puffed out a wisp of smoke and put his cigarette in the holder on the table. Slick noticed that three teacups also seemed to be a part of the decor. “What reason would I possibly have to cheat here?”

Boxcars scratched his head. “I dunno. Y’always got somethin’ ta prove.”

The sight of such a normal, casual conversation and incident made Slick laugh. It started as a chuckle and evolved into a full blown cackle. “I can’t believe. You….you guys.” He said between spurts of laughter. “All this time bein’ dead an’ you waste it playin’ cards.”

“We saved you a chair!” Deuce said as he gestured to the one empty chair across from him, the one Slick was standing in front of. “We even waited this whole time for ya!”

Slick walked up to the chair but didn’t sit in it. He sideeyed his right hand man, appropriately placed in his seat. “Wonder who’s bright idea that was…”

“You’re welcome.” Droog said as he casually kicked out Slick’s chair for him to sit in. Slick took it, plopping himself into it. Death shuffled up behind him.

**“Don’t say I never did anything for you, Spades.”**

“Yeah, yeah. Yer a real saint.” Slick said, pushing his chair back and kicking his feet up on the table. Droog cleared his throat, turning to Death.

“If it’s not too much trouble, is there any chance you could make one more pot of tea?”

“Again with this tea bullshit.” Slick said, rolling his eyes. “Get a room.”

“Oooh! Yeah I need a refill too!” Deuce said, holding up his empty cup.

“It’s really good tea, boss.” Boxcars added, pushing his own towards the middle of the table. Slick grumbled.

“Fine, jesus, I’ll have th’damn tea. If yer all so obsessed with it. An’ you.” He tilted his head towards Death. “Piss off for a bit will ya?”

Death said nothing as he gathered the empty teacups and exited back through the black door behind him. Deuce began picking up his dropped cards and shuffling them.

“You probably shouldn’t talk ta Death like that boss.”

Slick scoffed, putting his arms behind his head. “What good’s ‘e done me. I’m dead.”

“He has been generous enough to allow us to wait for you.” Droog pointed out, taking his own cards and handing them to Deuce.

Slick grumbled, pulling his feet down off the table and scooting his chair forwards. “Ya didn’t have to, idiots.”

Boxcars clicked his teeth at him. “‘Course we did, boss. Damn.”

“You honestly didn’t think you were going to get rid of us that easily, did you?” Droog chimed in as he grabbed his cigarette out of the holder.

“All for one an’ one for all, right?” Deuce shuffled the cards. “We’re a crew boss. We ride together we die together, ‘n stuff. We ain’t goin’ nowhere without you.”

It was everything that he wanted to hear. He took in the sight of his boys, smiling at him as if nothing had ever happened. After all this time, even though he was the cause of their deaths in the first place, his crew was here for him. He could have cried. He felt like he was crying. If he was, nobody noticed.

He watched Deuce finish shuffling and placed the deck in the middle of the table. “Well since you’re here boss, you wanna deal next round?”

“Careful ‘a Droog.” Boxcars warned, rolling up his sleeves and smirking. “He’s been cheatin’ the past few rounds.”

“I have _not_ been cheating.” Droog defends adamantly as he takes a drag on his death stick. “You’re just horribly out of practice.”

Boxcars raised an eyebrow. “We been playin this fer how long an’ you’re sayin’ i’m outta practice? If we was playin dice and I was winnin’ you’d be callin’ cheats too.”

Drogg shrugged his shoulders. “It’s impossible to call cheats on a man who is literally named after his ability to win every dice roll he plays.”

“Guys, we’re dead. Can’t we just have fun an’ play cards?” Deuce put out his hands between the two of them.

Slick chuckled at the normalcy of the situation. Here they were, past Death’s door, playing Poker and squabbling like a regular boring Tuesday at their own hideout. He mused to himself.

He didn’t expect to feel the warm embrace of death so quickly. Considering how many times he avoided it, Slick never thought he’d feel it at all. But if it was going to be like this, surrounded by his best friends and teammates, playing cards, drinking tea, joking around until their judgement finally came…

Maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t so bad after all.

He took the cards, shuffling them once himself out of habit. “Yeah, sure, why the hell not. I’ll play a round or two. Jus’ don’t piss yerselves when I kick yer asses.”

**Author's Note:**

> We're gonna teach them how to say goodbye.


End file.
